Clearly I’ve seen too many adverts for Being Human on BBC America. They’ve crept into my dreams. However scary it may be, it’s no more horrifying than everyday life.
I saw a high school classmate receive an assignment, with different groups to complete different parts. While I witnessed everything, I missed what I was supposed to do. I went to the group I knew to be mine, but I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me. The more desperate I became, the more they ignored me. I didn’t know the consequences of my ignorance or inaction, of there were any. Intense frustration washed over me.
That wasn’t the Being Human part. That could be any day, every day . . .
Monstrous beings—vampires, werewolves—were being pursued through the city by a hunt club. Not entirely visible, they fled hounds and horses. Their flight led the club into the track of an oncoming train. I couldn’t bear to look at the carnage. When I finally did, however, I saw that the train had cut cleanly through part of the lead dog’s face, so that it was in three-quarters profile, with no gore as though it were a paper cutout. I realized that the rest of the tableau must be like that. They were now frozen in place in time, caught in pursuit, with parts of their being slashed harmlessly and painlessly away. Yet I could sense infinite sadness in the lead hound, and the same sadness overcame me.
When I woke up, I realized that what I’d seen had not been a hound or even a dog.
It had been a fox.